The Fragmented Memories of Severus Snape
by Salivour
Summary: Drabbles revolving around Severus Snape.
1. A Dance at Yule

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Welcome! Welcome!" he smiled jovially at the assembled teachers, many slumped in their seats, smiles fixed in the empty classroom. Dumbledore was either ignoring the complete lack of enthusiasm, or hoping to get them out their shells by being jovial enough for ten people.

"As you all know, the Yule Ball," – the smiles became even more fixed – "is almost upon us. I trust that preparations are well underway, and thought it time to dust off the old dancing shoes and have a little fun of our own." Dumbledore smiled expectedly at the group, evidently waiting for a surge of interest.

Only Professors Sprout and Sinstra looked overly interested. Sprout was in her usual messy robes as everyone doubted she owned anything else. But Sinstra had dressed in a shortened robe and had her brown hair in a loose bun. She had apparently been warned of the nature of this meeting, and Snape thought she looked quite nic- practical. She was dressed practically for dancing. The other teachers looked as though they had never heard of dancing before, particularly Mad-Eye, whose mouth was hanging open at the suggestion of doing such a thing, or else they were visibly plotting to be as busy as possible Christmas Eve.

"Well, let's all get a partner and get started!" Dumbledore beckoned them up to the space cleared. Sprout and Sinstra leapt up, grabbing whoever was nearest. The shorter Flitwick hurrying being Professor Sprout. Mad-Eye eye looked very much like a child caught having an early slice of birthday cake and realising he could hardly blame anyone else, as Sinstra grabbed his hand and practically dragged him across the room. Dumbledore peered expectantly at the remaining teachers, "How about Sybil with Septima?"

Profressor Vector stomped over to Trelawney, who accepted her hand as graciously as she could, adjusting her shawl and many beads. "Ah, yes, my Inner Eye did say-"

"We are interested in feet, not eyes," said Vector exasperatedly.

"I would have hardly thought that one as interested in numerology would be so dismissive, and while lesser than the usual methods…" Trelawney trailed off, muttering to herself.

"Maths, dear Sybil, maths," Vector muttered.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore smiled, earning a glare from Vector, "Which leaves us with Minerva and Severus. Up! Up!" Both McGonagall and Snape remained firmly in their seats.

"Professor," Sanpe started in his usual drawl, "I hardly think it wise to simply let the students be while the staff are distracted." His large nose wrinkled in distaste.

"I must concur with Severus, Dumbledore," McGonagall said, "Myself, and I believe, Severus, would be quite happy to take the supervision upon ourselves."

Snape looked as though he couldn't agree fast enough. "Quite so. We'll no longer be needed here then." He got up to leave, doing so in the most dignified way possible without sprinting back to the dungeons and barricading himself into the office. Moody was looking to drift in the same direction, but was quickly pulled back into an awkward starting position by Sinstra. She gave an exasperated smile, eyes lighting up. Snape half-consciously returned the smile, lips twitching, unsure from long disuse in smiling, before he quickly dropped back into his usual demeanour as he realised that he had stalled long enough to allow Dumbledore a counter-argument.

"Nonsense," Dumbledore said cheerily, "Let them relax for Christmas. After all, there's no need for you to miss out on the celebrations. A little music and if Severus and Minerva wouldn't mind?" He twinkled at the pairing who weren't even looking at one another. They rapidly stepped together into an appropriate dancing position before backing off as much as possible to not be too close. Dumbledore called out the steps for a simple waltz, prancing around the room with an invisible partner, his purple robes flying.

McGonagall and Snape awkwardly stepped out the movements, clearly embarrassed. Moody looked to be a decent dancer, surprisingly, but kept getting stuck whenever he seemed to suddenly realise one of his legs was wooden. Sinstra would keep leaping out of the way as the wooden leg kept on swinging through.

"For goodness sake, Severus!" McGonagall hissed, "Keep your eyes on what you are doing."

"I have no interest in dancing," Snape said.

"Yes, well. You should just ask her," McGonagall said.

"Ask who?" Snape's eyebrows rose, and suddenly his full attention was on McGongall. She didn't look impressed.

"Professor Sinstra. You are looking at her."

"Aurora's actions on behalf of Professor Moody are merely a source of some distraction for myself," said Snape stiffly.

"Aurora, is it?" McGonagall teased, "I seem to recall you having an aversion to referring to any of us my first name."

Snape merely blanked his face, one of the veins on the side of his neck twitching. "What were your thoughts on the soufflé last night?"

"You are changing the subject, Severus."

"Does it matter? I am certainly not going to this ball." Snape tried to make it seem as though this was the final say anyone who have on such a topic, but apparently Dumbledore did not get the memo, and Snape found himself standing next to a pot plant in the Great Hall on Christmas Eve in a horribly uncomfortable dark blue robe. He was perfectly content to spend the rest of the evening blasting apart the rose bushes for students, but was headed off the plan at the sight of McGonagall striding towards him. She was wearing tartan robes, finished with what Snape thought was a rather ugly wreath around her hat.

"Dumbledore," she said by way of explanation as she pulled him over into the milling crowd. Snape for once, tried to blend in and failed utterly.

"One," he said to her firmly.

"You think I plan on anything else?" she snapped back.

Snape chose to ignore her and they began their clumsy spiral around the room, choosing instead to observe the other couples of the room, ignoring the tittering and gossiping students. Hagrid and Madam Maxime where the most obvious cutting a wide path across the hall. Professor Dumbledore was doing an odd sort of jig for a group of amused sixth years, pulling his robes up to show his white tap-dancing boots. He glanced up at McGonagall and Snape who both instantly pasted the best smiles they could manage onto their faces.

McGonagall tugged him in another direction, herself carefully looking in the opposite direction. One lap. That was all they would have to do before he could start blasting the rose bushes. Although he might start painting them if Dumbledore insisted on more dancing. Already one lap was far too long, as the constantly moving crowd of uncoordinated students prevented any speed. At least Moody attempting to avoid Sinstra with his wooden leg was some amusement. She was in a lovely red dress, accompanied with a red ribbon woven into her bun. She had this little smile on her face as she avoided the leg, making her eyes-

"Severus." McGonagall snapped his mind back to her and their circuit, more walking with twirls than dancing.

"Are we done?" he asked.

"No quite," she smiled, "Why don't you just ask her?"

"Ask who?"

"Professor Sinstra, of course. I do notice where you've been looking."

"I was simply amused by Professor Moody," Snape said stubbornly.

"Of course." Professor McGonagall shook her head, "For goodness sake. You don't have to remain isolated. It really isn't good for you, Severus."

"I think we've almost finished."

McGonagall sighed. "I just mean, it wouldn't hurt you to have a conversation once in a while. At least give yourself a chance."

"I can't," Snape said stiffly, "Ever since…" he trailed off; face more carefully composed than ever.

"I know," said McGonagall gently, as they came to a halt in the more private back half of the hall, "You lost someone. But your heart is still here. No one would ask you to love again, but at least give yourself a chance to smile. She wouldn't want you to mourn."

"I can't…I'm-I'm going to be outside," he stalked off to the darkened paths outside near the greenhouses, where McGonagall knew perfectly well no student would be. He walked until the music was a faint noise and he could lean against the stone railing without being noticeable by the dancers inside. He absently noticed the wind playing with the grass and shivered, wishing he had brought a cloak with him. He didn't know why McGonagall insisted bringing up long dead wounds, even if they were really still fresh. He hardly knew how to hold a conversation and he hardly wanted to impress his presence of someone else. He knew perfectly well he was not well liked and was content with his potions thank-you-very-much. If he wished to get some amusement out of someone else's predicament, that was all the more power to him, right? He hardly had the slightest inclination towards some witch because she was jumping out of a stupid leg. He didn't care at all. He just wanted to be in the dungeon alone and with no one to bother him and-

"You've wandered a long way."

And no one seemed to be able to leave him alone tonight. He would be glad of the day he could walk away from all this and- oh.

"Professor Sinstra," he greeted as cordially as he could without sounding annoyed.

"Minerva said she wanted a word with Mad-Eye," Sinstra leant back against the balcony, looking at Snape, who rather hoped she would have enough tact to not start a conversation.

"I could do with some more of that potion for cleaning the telescopes," she simply said.

"I'll bring it up in the morning." Snape did his best to hide the small smile on his face as he realised that Sinstra had given him an excuse to duck out for the best of the night.

She nodded, "I'll see you around."

"Yes…see you."

They parted ways for the night.


	2. A Perfect Balance

The boomslang skin was balanced precariously on the scales. Severus Snape knew that this was the most delicate stage in proceedings. He brushed his long black hair from his face and carefully added a single shred of boomslang to the scales so that they were balanced perfectly. He needed the slow, mindful work of potion making. He did not dare allow himself to think too much. He distrusted the practise of worrying, but now, with all his - with all of Dumbledore's - carefully placed pieces balancing on the edge of a knife, he found that his mind wandered. Endless scenarios, endless questions, wondering who or what would disrupt the precarious balance he tried so desperately to maintain in Hogwarts.

So many years ago, it felt, Dumbledore had told him to do all he could to protect the students of Hogwarts. Now, here, even as headmaster, he seemed to fail at every turn. The Carrows felt like constant watch dogs for the Dark Lord, questioning his every move. They were utterly unpredictable, insane and he was at least grateful to the other teachers who protected the students far better than he ever could. He couldn't even protect his Slytherin students as entranced with the Dark Lord's ideals as they were. He was grateful to those students who just kept their heads down and tried to not raise the slightest notice, toeing the line but never going overboard. Severus thought perhaps that Hufflepuff would become his new favourite house. If all the students were like that, he would be able to rein in the Carrows. But the Gryffindors, especially, insisted on constantly being noticed by the Carrows. They wrecked as much havoc as they could. Severus didn't know how they expected to be protected if they were so often in trouble. Sometimes, it was all he could do to not snap. Tell them to be quiet for once, to just not goad the Carrows. Half the time he was scared they would garner the attention of the Dark Lord, that they would finally cross the line where he would deem it necessary to be personally involved. If that happened, Severus knew there would be little chance of protecting the students. After all, it was easy for them to argue that the attempted stealing of the Sword of Gryffindor should be cause for death. That the three students should be made an example of. That the Dark Lord himself should be summoned. The latter, at least, was easy for Severus to argue against, the Carrows had always fancied themselves for undeserving glory. But he feared a day when Hogwarts, filled with children, would have to face the Dark Lord. Severus knew the three had only narrowly escaped, though they seemed blind to his careful maneuvering as he manipulated the Carrows into a far lesser sentence. In fact, rather than serving as a lesson to not push things too far, the students of Dumbledore's Army came out more reckless than ever.

His Slytherins were, in many ways, just as much of a problem. Young, and many had heard nothing but the ideals the Dark Lord taught from their parents. They took to the curses with glee. It did not bare thinking of, the hatred in a child for them to cast the Cruciatus on another. Severus did not know if they truly understood what they supported. If this went on longer than a year, he knew that many of them would live the rest of their lives baring the dark mark. Though he did not like to admit it, he also knew that a few could well end up having murdered before their seventeenth birthday.

He had the strongest feeling the end was approaching rapidly. Brewing a few potions for Madam Pomfrey to have on hand had always been such a simple, routine task. Bit now he wasn't sure if even that would be done. Far sooner than he would have ever liked, the dark mark, branded into his left forearm, gave a slight twinge. He was grateful that it, at least, was not from the Dark Lord. The was always a far stronger pain. Death Eaters could send each other small pulses when they were close enough. The only senders could be the Carrows. There was only one reason they would contact him. They thought Harry Potter was in Hogwarts. Somehow, he knew instinctively that they were not mistaken.

He sighed and tried to gather himself. He ensured that his face was blank, spared one last look at his potions, around at the small stone room that had been his home for seventeen years. He swept out of the room.

The boomslang skin sat on its scale in the cool air of the dungeon. Balanced perfectly, just as Severus had left it. Somewhere behind it, an unfinished potion began to bubble over.


End file.
